Practically Perfect In Every Way
by jaffacake1
Summary: Ron watches Hermione and thinks a little. Introspective!Ron in this one. R/Hr all the way


Practically Perfect in Every Way  
  
  
  
A/N A very short Ron/Hermione story. Written very late at night (3am, right before I wrote 'Someone I Knew'. pluggery!), so there may be some non- sense-making parts. Ron watches Hermione and thinks a bit, y'know, just to make it interesting. ahem. He also feels sorry for himself. Poor Ron. Read it for him! And he's not OOC, he's just having a pensive moment. So there.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Ron. I do not own Hermione. I also do not own the line from Mary Poppins. I own the mouse on this computer though - it was a birthday present.  
  
  
  
It kills me sometimes, y'know? To have her so near and yet so far away. To know that she will never be what I want her to be. I'm just Ron. Her best friend.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I love having her in my life. I don't even want to contemplate what it would be like without her, but it does make this all so much harder.  
  
It's moments like this that are the worst.  
  
She's sitting in the corner of our common room, wrapped up in her homework. All around her is chaos - the twins have set loose some pixies, which are pulling apart everything they can lay their hands on; people are screaming; Dean and Seamus are having a play fight on the floor. I'm sitting here pretending to read. I don't even know what book I'm holding. I grabbed it off a pile in our dorm room - it hardly mattered, I never intended to read it. I just wanted to watch her.  
  
Her golden brown eyes are glued to her parchment, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth as she decides what to write. Her hair is held up by a single quill, jabbed through a messy bun. She still looks perfect.  
  
I never really noticed until one day in our fourth year. One second, she was just Hermione, the eleven-year old bossy, bucktoothed witch I had met on the Hogwarts Express; the next, she was a grown up, self assured, smart, (not to mention beautiful) young woman. Naturally, I didn't know what to do. I opened and closed my mouth about a hundred times before she glared at me, and asked what I was staring at. Kinda ruined the moment.  
  
Ever since then, I've been smitten.  
  
And now, looking at her, I can't understand why it took me so long. I honestly can't believe that there was once a time I didn't notice how the light reflects on her hair, how her eyes crinkle up when she laughs, how her brows knit together when she's thinking really hard. A bit sad really, isn't it?  
  
I've taken to moping a lot recently. Just when I don't think anyone will notice. When I'm alone in my dorm room, or sometimes when Hermione's studying in the library and Harry's practicing Quidditch. Of course, I can only do it when I'm alone. I don't want anyone to know. I hate being like this. Feeling sorry for myself the whole time, moping around like a bloody depressed puppy dog. It's not like I asked for this. I'd much rather not have fallen in love with my best friend, believe it or not. Life would be so much simpler.  
  
At first I tried to find fault with her, tried to find something to make me like her less. As irony would have it, the harder I tried to find flaws, the more wonderful things I discovered about her. I noticed for the first time that she smelt like vanilla fudge, the kind they sell in Honeydukes. I found myself smiling inwardly at almost everything she did. She was shorter than I'd thought she was - sometimes, when she sat in the armchair in the corner of the common room, her feet didn't even touch the floor. They just kinda dangled.  
  
I tried another tactic - I spent days trying to think of things she'd said or done to upset me. Not a one of them was her fault. I'm made her mad every time - (something I'll never ever tell her, by the way). Nothing I could think of was wrong with her.  
  
She's practically perfect in every way.  
  
And I'm just me.  
  
Red-headed (not to mention pig-headed), freckle-faced, long-nosed Ron. Yet another one of the Weasleys. Harry Potter's friend, sidekick, and Chessmaster Extraordinaire. It's a very sad thing when your best quality is listed as your ability to play chess.  
  
She'll never love me. I know that. There are so many better fish in the sea.  
  
She's packing away her work now, she's finally finished her Arithmancy essay. She's coming towards me, a smile on her face. She suggests we play some chess - who am I to refuse?  
  
I put down my book and smile. Hermione may never love me the way I want her too, but she's still here in my life, nagging me to finish my homework, and getting trashed at chess.  
  
And I wouldn't wanna change a thing. Not for all the galleons in the world, not for halfway decent dress robes.  
  
Not even for the Chudley Cannons.  
  
And that says a hell of a lot.  
  
  
  
FIN  
  
  
  
Note to self: Stop writing angst ficcies at unearthly hours of the morning. Note to reader: You just wasted, like, three precious minutes of your life. You want something to show for it, don't you? Well, if you just click that pretty purple button down below.. 


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